It's Super Bowl time, my little bitches! And for the first time in 3 years, I'm actually going to get to watch the entire game at home, on my couch, the way it's fucking supposed to be.
Two years ago I was about 5 months into a new job and the week before the Super Bowl the bosses decided to send me on travel. Just for a week, fine, I'll be back on Saturday. The week was going by just fine, until Thursday, when I got The Call.
"Hey, we're gonna need you to stay out there next week, too."
Um, ok, can I fly home for the weekend? No. But it's the Super Bowl! The Pats are going for 19-0! Sorry, Mark, you're officially fucked. I tried to make the best of it. I bought a case of beer and bottle of champagne to drink during and after the game. I had packed my jersey juuuuuust in case this exact fucked scenario actually played out. My hotel room actually had an HDTV in it. I suppose it could have been worse.
And then, the fucking game happened. Ugh. Let's just move on.
Last year a friend of Wifey's was having a Super Bowl party, and since that friend's grandma or someone had just died and Wifey hadn't had a chance to see her yet, we had to go. Fine. We got there and the first thing I noticed was that someone had made chili that was clearly inferior to the chili I had cooking at home. Step up your fucking chili game, people. I'm the fucking Pope of Chili Town and this was some weak ass excuse for chili.
Since the game hadn't started yet and I had zero interest in talking to anyone at this party, I went to pet the dog. The dog, a boxer, was in the other room locked in its crate. And this is something I will fucking never understand about some people; why the fuck do people lock their dogs in the crate when they have company over? It drives me fucking crazy. I am never going to do that when I get a dog. Not a dog person? Then get the fuck out of my house! Oh did the dog knock something over and spill shit? Well the kids and drunk people are gonna do that anyway so what's the difference?
Anyway, so I go and sit next to the crate and pet the dog through the prison bars for a second and then I was like fuck it, and I opened the door to the crate, positioning myself so that I was pretty much blocking any escape. The dog sat there happily for like a minute while I petted it, but then I let my guard down and glanced into the other room to see where Wifey was. BOOM! That animal came busting out like a bat out of hell, knocking me on my back and charging into the party to fucking wreak havoc. Just started sprinting around, jumping on people, all that shit. It was great. Eventually the owners got the dog back in the crate and I fake apologized. We stayed for the first quarter and then headed home. I turned on the tv just in time to see James Harrison's interception return. And since the game sucked donkey dick in the 3rd quarter, I was actually in bed watching the non-HDTV when all of the awesomeness happened. Oh well.
But this year! This year I'm not going fucking anywhere. I'm gonna make my kick ass chili, drink some beer, and park my ass on the couch for the entire game. Wifey is talking about having some friends over and that's fine. Do whatever you want, lady. I'm eating my chili and watching football and that's all I give a shit about.
On to the game!
Indianapolis (-5) over New Orleans
God I would love to take the Saints. I'm fucking praying that they pull off the upset. But really, I just don't think it's going to happen. Peyton Manning is just too good. He's been playing out of his mind all season and he just seems to have a robotic, Terminator-like focus right now. I had a friend over to watch the AFC championship and with the Jets leading 17-6 just before the half I said to him, "It pisses me off that we're like 3 plays away from it being 17-13." Well, it took 4 plays, but that's the amazing thing about Manning; it's practically expected that he's going to make a couple deep throws and bury the dagger of a TD into your chest on every drive. It's fucking annoying.
I also don't think that Dwight Freeney's absence is going to mean shit. I just get the feeling that after the game, Berman and all the other talking dipshits are gonna be saying shit like, "And you never would have even noticed that Dwight Freeney didn't play!" I have no explanation for this other than I know we'll be hearing something like that after the game. So there.
Our only hope here is the Football Gods. Do they remember the Colts tanking like a bunch of pussies in Weeks 16 and 17? Do they realize what an enormous piece of whiny shit Bill Polian is? Do they know that the pussification of the game, penalizing the defense for everything, started with the Colts? Do they see the jackassery of Bill Polian claiming his team doesn't care about records or milestones but then making every effort to get Reggie Wayne and Dallas Clark 100 catches for the season in Week 17? Of course not. The Football Gods don't exist. If they did, the Jets would have beaten the Colts 2 weeks ago after the Colts let them into the playoffs.
Colts 38, Saints 27 with Manning as MVP. Maybe he'll actually deserve it this time.
